


If Tom Were a Loaf of Bread

by andmoreagain



Series: The Right Turn [1]
Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Post-Canon, sexual healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:07:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27955133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andmoreagain/pseuds/andmoreagain
Summary: After years apart (and extensive therapy) Tom and Greg reconnect. Post-canon and vague to keep it (hopefully) compliant with future seasons.
Relationships: Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans
Series: The Right Turn [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2049690
Comments: 15
Kudos: 30





	If Tom Were a Loaf of Bread

Tom paced his house, re-plumping cushions and staring at the door. The nerves were absurd, but how long had it been? Three — four years at least. For the past two months they’d been speaking on the phone once a week or so. It had felt quite natural, despite the years and the baggage that had sat between them. He knew he’d changed a lot, but he felt that at his core he was largely the same, or that, without sounding too cliche, he’d become more of himself. Greg had changed more than he expected, too. But still, at his core the same. 

Why the nerves now then? However many times Tom talked himself down over the week since they’d made this plan, the anxiety would steadily boil over again. He couldn’t settle himself, not until Greg was there and real, undeniably back in his life. He had close friends that he’d go years without seeing, and wouldn’t get nerves like this seeing them again. He wondered if those really were close friends, or just the closest he’d had, maybe he’d be this nervous about any true friend. That train of thought brought him right back around to the man of the hour, of course. The enigmatic Greg.

Surely he could face it fully, that Greg was his friend. The term still didn’t fit quite right, never had. He was always just adjacent to something else. He’d find the right word for him one day. 

With ten minutes to Greg’s ETA, he jogged back to his bedroom to rethink his shirt. He’d considered a turtleneck, not too absurd, it was January, but he had the log fire burning and found himself overheating in the living room. Maybe the brushed cotton shirt and cardigan would stay. He’d thought the layers seemed too homely but he was getting a chill without a cardigan. He looked himself over in the mirror. Horrifically middle aged. After unbuttoning and re-buttoning his shirt collar a few times he was struck with an awful self-awareness, almost embarrassment. He trotted to the kitchen to make coffee, Greg would want a cup of coffee when he arrived. Or would he rather tea? He dragged a heavy hand over his face. He’ll just ask when he arrives. 

He was sitting on the couch taking some comfort from Mulberry, who was blissfully purring by the fire, when then there it was, a soft knock at the door.

“Greg! Look at you, you...” He cut himself short on the old flirtatious bullying. Familiar faces always trigger a slight regression. “Aren’t you dashing.” Not great, but words weren’t coming to him too easily.

“Thanks.” Greg smiled at him, in that gentle way. But he’d shed something, a trepidation that had previously weighted his face. Tom could only return a smile. 

“Jeez, it’s cold, come in quick.” Once inside, in the quiet, neither could help but notice the weight in the air. Not too scary and horrible, but weight nonetheless. Tom gasped at the revelation he had something to fill the room; “Coffee? Tea?”

“Coffee would be great.” 

“Hang your coat and everything there and come through, shoes off. There’s uh, there’s a fire lit, if you care for that kind of thing.” Greg’s face lit up in response. 

While Tom pottered in the kitchen Greg made himself comfortable on the couch, and stretched his legs out onto the ottoman in front of the fireplace. The kitchen was not separated from the living room, and Tom had to work hard at not beaming at Greg, in his home, Greg looking so comfortable. 

“Long drive?”

“Not too bad, two hours.” 

Tom nodded. “You can come by whenever, if you have the time. Working from home there’s — well you know I don’t do the whole large living thing so much.” He stopped himself getting too confessional, maybe a beat late. Greg nodded.

Greg appraised the house from his comfortable viewpoint. Smaller than he expected, but lavish nonetheless. Hard oak floors spread across the open plan space. The ceilings were high enough for the air to feel crisp in that way, but not cold. On the couch opposite him a small grey cat lay curled with its chin over its paws, lit orange by the open fire. He appraised Tom too, moving calmly through his surprisingly lived-in kitchen. He looked happier than Greg had seen him. His clothes looked comfortable, expensive but not discarded at the first signs of wear. 

After coffee across from each other Greg moved to sit next to Tom, to show him the pictures on his phone of his trips abroad, his house, his garden. 

“I thought it would be cool to grow vegetables, like self sufficiency and whatever? But so far I’ve only grown radishes. It takes a lot more time than I thought.”

“Mm. Well radishes can cover a lot of bases.”

“You know, they really can!” Tom’s dry tone wasn’t lost on Greg, but he was enthusiastic nonetheless.

“And who’s this?” Tom swiped back to a picture of Greg outside his house, his arm around an unfamiliar woman. 

“Oh, that’s the agent who sold me the house.” Greg glanced at Tom. “Nothing too exciting.” He smiled. A second conversation exchanged without words.

“It’s good to see you Greg.” 

“Yeah. Yeah you too man. I’m like, I’m really glad you got in touch. I’ve… I've thought about you a lot. I’m glad you’re… you’re good?”

“Yeah. Yeah I’m good Greg. It’s weird.” Greg gripped Tom’s knee, and Tom placed his hand over Greg’s. Tom sighed heavily, and they both left it a moment before parting contact. “What time is it…seven. You hungry?” Greg nodded.

When Tom ordered pizza Greg didn’t care to let him know how he was more of a sushi guy now, but he was relieved when a stone baked and lavishly topped pie arrived. 

Sitting next to each other with food the awkwardness returned. Cautiously, Greg produced from his pocket a tapered steel tube.

“Like old times?” 

“Greg! You brought a joint to my home?” Tom was thrilled at the audacity. “Alright. You.. you devil you.”

As usual, the weed offered two helpful effects for Tom, and one more unfortunate one; the food was especially good, he and Greg settled into a relaxed closeness on the couch, and his crotch started to ache. He looked at Greg with his flushed cheeks and drooped eyes, and wondered if it affected him the same way. Not that it mattered of course. 

They drank beer and Tom put on a Talking Heads record. He danced his way back over to the couch, a silly, awkward, middle aged dance and Greg grinned. Absurdly, he got up and joined him. After Burning Down the House Tom wandered to the kitchen to replenish their beer. An atmosphere started to hang in the air. Like they were waiting for something. Tom racked his brain; had they ordered more food? He handed Greg a beer.

“Need anything else?”

Greg laughed. “Nah man, I’m good.”

They settled on the couch again. Pressed up against each other. Side A ended and the room filled with the soft repeating thud of the needle at the end of the vinyl. Tom became aware of his pulse thudding through his body; he leant against Greg and felt his too. Greg lazily dragged his fingers through Tom’s hair. 

“Shall I flip it?” Greg asked.

Tom sighed. “I’d like quiet for a bit.” 

Greg nodded. He started to feel the burn of anticipation flushing his skin. 

“It’s really good to see you Tom.” Tom only hummed in response. “And I’m glad you’re… uh… I didn’t know how today would go. You know how you can.. how you could be. Before.” Greg winced at his fumbled attempt.

Tom sat up. “I’m sorry Greg.” Their eyes met. “You know how sorry I am. About everything. I hope.. I hope you know how..” He trailed off. Greg nodded and placed a warm hand on Tom’s thigh. 

“I’m sorry too man. It was just.. it was fucked up. My family is fucked up. I kept thinking I knew how bad it was and then—like—blindsided, man.”

Tom breathed sharply. “Well.. y’know, well done you. Getting out, in a way.”

They eventually flipped the record, and Tom showed Greg around his house. He apologised for the mess in his bedroom, consisting of a few water glasses and a small stack of books by the bed, explained he was trying to go help-free. The cat trotted keenly alongside them for the full tour. Greg nearly tripped on her, and apologised to both Mulberry and Tom.

“Oh god, I do it all the time. She’s very needy. I uh, I don’t know where she gets it from.” Tom seemed almost sheepish, and Greg wanted to hug him.

Tom grimaced as they walked back into the living room, This Must Be the Place. It felt too on the nose, but he couldn’t place why. Maybe just a touch of hope was all it took. Greg checked the time, half ten. He seemed disappointed to realise he’d really better head. Tom was disappointed too. Why disappointment? They’d had a great evening, they’d made plans to hang out again. 

“I’m sorry we got a little heavy. Next time will be light, I promise.” Tom held up three fingers. Greg didn’t buy he was ever a scout.

“No, I’m glad. Get as heavy as you like.”

Tom’s lips quirked. Greg, still stopping his head in its tracks with his sideways honesty. Then Greg hugged him so warmly goodbye, and there it was again, in the corner of Tom’s chest. That thing they’d been waiting for all evening. And with Greg at the door, offering a stuttered goodbye, a window of possibility rapidly began to draw closed. It spurred Tom, an unnamed urgency sealing around his throat. He moved - perhaps in a more lurching manner than necessary - and placed a flat palm on the door, crowding Greg. But any attempt to crowd Greg was somewhat in vain, as those wide cow eyes stared down at him, and Tom felt so stupidly small. So wonderfully small.

“T—Tom? Everything uh, everything good here?” At Greg’s nervous inquiry Tom became more aware of his jagged breath, the sweat at his neck.

“I… would you stay, Greg?” Despite summoning all his courage, the question still felt less confessional than he intended. “It’s late. Stay the night, just — uh, as friends? If you like?”

Greg’s eyes were wide. Tom would call them searching, if it weren’t for the fact that Greg so often seemed to search and come up empty. 

“Uh, sure yeah, like, of course man.” Greg offered a stilted smile and a nod, a gesture too familiar. Tom wasn’t satisfied.

Searching for the right words, still so unnecessarily close to Greg, Tom’s mind met the wall of haze it so often did. The longing to say how he felt, starkly, openly, and being met with no feelings he had the tools to voice, even internally. But there was one feeling that took, comfortably and easily; still nameless to Tom, a sadness certainly. Sadness, confusion, desperation, and overwhelming inadequacy. And then, finally, drunk, whimpering tears began to spill from him. 

Greg was taken aback, and after a tense pause he allowed a gentle hand to rest on Tom’s back. And so cruelly, he stroked along his shoulder blade, and cautiously offered words of comfort. His voice so soft, so uncertain, it welled in Tom’s shaky chest. He opened his eyes to see Greg’s shoulder offered before him, and he leant his head on it. 

“It’s okay man, it’s alright.” Words spoken in a tone adjacent to a question. A second hand arrived on Tom’s back, and stroked up to his neck. “I’ll stay, I’ll always stay if you.. if you need me to.” Greg petered out, internally cursing himself for his insufficient emotional vocabulary. Tom’s cold nose was below Greg’s ear, his dry lips punctuating the tears that spilled onto his skin. Greg expected discomfort, longed for discomfort, but was met instead with a familiar pang in his chest, down to his belly button, and lower, dare he acknowledge it. A sting like a repetitive strain. He grimaced, wishing he could put his own troublesome feelings aside, because here was his friend, so vulnerable.

“Thank you Greg.” 

“That’s okay.” Greg wasn’t sure his response was audible.

“Greg..” 

Tom pushed his face deeper into Greg’s neck, taking in his smell, his warmth. And slowly, but certainly, he raised his hand up to Greg’s chest. Greg’s breath quickened. Tom stroked up to Greg’s shoulder and down his arm, gripping, applying a steady pressure that was so familiar, so needed. Greg matched the pressure, stroking down Tom’s lower back, tugging him closer. Greg had a question he wanted to ask, or maybe to answer.

“Okay.” Was all he managed, but Tom knew what he meant. Tom’s hand wandered back to Greg’s chest, then down. Following a steady route. Arriving more nervously at Greg’s belt. And with his brow furrowed in the crook of Greg’s neck, he dragged his hand down over Greg’s crotch. Greg huffed out a sigh that felt a lot like relief, as did Tom. In almost comic unison they turned their heads to briefly look at each other, then looked down at Tom’s hand; their faces half disbelief, half cloying want. Tom gently began to palm him, giddiness taking the reins. His face was uncovered now as he gained confidence and certainty, and Greg was almost overcome, seeing Tom so earnest in his attempt, his crotch seeming to be such a sacred thing.

Clutching onto each other, Greg allowed himself to verbalise his pleasure - attempting to let Tom know in only sighs and half words how much he had wanted him, attempting to cement to himself it was real. Tom unbuckled and unzipped him, slowly, tempering his desperation. His hand lingered at the soft bamboo viscose waistband, he knew his confidence must have been waning for him to note the textile. His eyes met Greg’s.

“Can I?” An absurd question. Greg nodded keenly. 

Tom slid his hand into Greg’s briefs, their eyes not parting. They sighed together, the intensity of the sustained eye contact almost more overwhelming than the skin on skin, but not quite. Tom pressed his crotch against Greg’s hip, taking great pleasure in the warmth, the softness in his hand. The skin was like fine velvet - he’d never taken notice of that with his own cock, but the sensation was delightfully familiar. He brought his hand up and spat in it, and Greg clasped it and spat as well. Tom revelled briefly in the mixing of their saliva, then returned to his task, drawing a wonderful moan from Greg.

“Oh, Tom.” Greg gasped.

“Say my name again.” Tom panted against Greg’s neck.

“Tom…” It was almost inaudible, but it encouraged Tom to bite gently at Greg’s neck, still working his hand. “Oh man, Tom, I’m gonna —”

“Let me see you come Greg.” Tom’s voice was vulnerable, revealing.

Greg tilted his head back against the door, bucked his hips forward. No extravagant sounds, just his mouth moving around unsaid words as he gasped and spilled into Tom’s hand. 

After several breathless beats, Tom pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gently cleaned Greg, cleaned his hand, and then tucked it back into his pocket. He zipped Greg back up. Greg felt an unsteady smile stretch over his whole body, taking pleasure in Tom’s order, but it elicited anxiety too. He sensed a classic Tom shutdown coming on. 

“Thank you Greg.” Tom managed, and stared at the floor, the familiar wood grain becoming quite fascinating. He stepped away and opened the door. “Have a safe trip.”

“Tom?” Greg half-laughed and looked at Tom in confoundment. He was glazed over, and a rapid draft was flooding the hall.

Greg was annoyed now, and pushed the door shut, closing the distance between them. Avoiding the unsteady preambles, he leant down and kissed Tom, gripping his cardigan. Tom caved easily, sighing into Greg’s mouth, grasping at his hair. Greg shuffled them away from the door, determined to seal its redundancy.

“You really think I’m that, like, cheap Tom? Give me a handie and toss me back into the street?” Tom coughed out a laugh. Greg kissed him again, firmer, and they both became openly desperate, tender bordering on something thick and sticky. 

_How obscene._ Thought Tom. Their first kiss, with Greg’s come on his handkerchief in his pocket. But he didn’t think it was obscene really. He thought it was quite lovely. 

“Can we go to your bedroom?” Greg murmured against Tom’s jaw. Tom was trying not to slip into total panic as they ascended the stairs holding hands. But despite the unfamiliarity of the terrain, over and over he could take stock that it was Greg. It was gangly overwhelmed Greg, who was laying him down, eyes dark. The soft lips that he’d found his eyes drifting to, over and over, ever since he’d first met him, now on his collarbone, his chest, his stomach. 

Greg was clearly more familiar with the process, unafraid of offering Tom pleasure. Tom cursed that he’d never thought to ask, but he was thankful too, because now was good, and before could have been pretty awful. And there really wasn’t much to complain about. Tom gasped and gripped his sheets, Greg’s mouth working him tenderly, his hands grounding him. It felt unfair that he had only given a drafty handjob, and he vowed to level the playing field soon. Cautiously, Greg wetted two fingers and dragged them lower. Pressing gently. He looked up at Tom, asking. Tom nodded shallowly, his heart racing around the realisation that Greg had read his needs so acutely. Greg drew him out past when he’d usually climax, teasing and savouring every whimper, until finally he relented. 

They both lay panting, exhilarated and severely overwhelmed, both afraid of the morning, the memory loss and embarrassment it can offer. But they fell asleep naked, holding each other, which would surely be a good enough icebreaker when they awoke. And it was.

Tom woke first. He felt Greg’s hand flat across his belly, his head on his chest, lips parted, his warm breath. Tom sighed contentedly, which was enough to stir Greg. Greg dragged his palm across Tom, like he was trying to place his location, then shifted to look up at him, his face soft and sleepy. 

“Coffee?” Tom asked as he gently shifted himself upright. Greg nodded.  
  


When Tom came back up with a tray of breakfast, Greg was in the shower. Tom paced a moment, sniffed an armpit, then put the tray on the dresser where Mulberry couldn’t reach it, and knocked on the door to the en suite.

“Greg? Do you mind if I... can I join you?”

“Like, obviously Tom?” 

Greg was done washing when Tom got in with him, so he washed Tom, and kissed him. He gazed at Tom in the moment he pulled away, when Tom’s eyes were still shut. He dragged a thumb over Tom’s lower lip.

“I like kissing you in the daylight even more.” 

“Yeah?” 

Greg nodded. “I think our relationship has done well for a bit of a break huh?”

Tom almost choked on his laugh. 

  
In bed again they ate and drank coffee, while they checked their phones. One evening spent off the hook and the backlog was intense. 

“Put the tray on the floor.”

“I’m not done with my coffee, Greg!”

“Then like, put it on the nightstand. I want to get next to you and I’m gonna knock the tray over.” 

With his path cleared Greg curled up next to Tom and dragged his fingers through the hair leading to his crotch. Tom gave up on his emails, which encouraged Greg to move to kiss him, wrapped against him, almost indistinguishable from the duvet. 

No moment came when it felt appropriate for Greg to leave, so he stayed. Through lunch - in the nearby town; Tom’s favourite sandwich place. They had them toasted with soup, huddled in a window booth, warming their cold hands on their bowls. The food was basic, but delicious and fresh - another piece of new Tom that compelled Greg to embrace him enthusiastically once they were back in Tom’s car. Through dinner - Tom cooked a mean risotto, and they ate at his small dining table, with wine and Debussy. Through to bed again.

Greg sat on Tom’s lower thighs. 

“Have you been with a man before, Tom?” Tom flushed, caught off guard, his body still nervous with anticipation around Greg.

“A.. a couple of handjobs in college. Like everyone.” Tom paused, recalling the night before. “I have been uh… I bought Shiv a strap on.”

Greg nodded. “That’s good.”

“That’s good?” Tom laughed, but his cock was starting to ache. Greg placed a hand around it.

“Yeah, cause I really want to fuck you Tom.” Tom took in a shaky breath. “Like, no worries if it feels too fast and everything, but maybe uh, if I want it and you want it, why wait any longer?” He continued to gently stroke Tom, who was getting very flustered.

“That’s… sound logic, Greg.” 

Greg smiled softly and stroked Tom’s hips as he shifted to between his legs. Tom’s mouth hung open slightly, horny and a little frightened. 

“Do you have lube?” 

Tom nodded. “Bedside table.”

Greg warmed it in his hands, a gesture that prickled tears in Tom’s eyes. Greg was slow and careful, thoughtful. Asking if Tom was good with each shift in movement and position, gaging what felt best and following through on it. Then he positioned himself there.

“Wait.” Tom gasped. Greg nodded and lay down next to him. “I just… uh.. I don’t take well to casual hook-ups, I think. And I have no idea what we’ll be tomorrow, like once the tension is gone?” Greg looked at their feet while he considered.

“I mean, I don’t feel very casual Tom. And I don’t think you do either?” Greg met his eyes earnestly. “I… I don’t know how we’ll feel tomorrow either but. Shit I want to give this to you.” He placed a hand on Tom’s neck, his thumb stroking his jaw. Tom sighed. “Maybe like.. just let me take care of you? Right now? And then we’ll see if we can keep taking care of each other?” 

Tom’s heart pounded, but he felt his body relax. Like his mattress just got softer. “Okay.”

Greg stayed next to him, one hand reaching under Tom to hold him, the other lifting his leg. Always so careful, his sweet eyes watching intently. It felt better, being on the same level. Greg softened Tom again, enjoying his weight, his skin, his hair, the slick warm velvet in his hand. Tom had always thought it would feel more like succumbing, surrendering even, but he had never felt so certain in a decision, choosing his want. And it was Greg. Of course, how absurd, how obvious. 

Once they got to the scary bit they held onto each other tightly, reassuring. Greg murmuring his praise and pleasure against Tom’s shoulder, a hand spread flat against his soft stomach. At first, awkward, unavoidable discomfort, but far less than Tom had found with rigid toys. Then, slowly, it was good. Fuck, it was really good. Greg whimpering in his ear, holding his thick leg like a bouquet over his arm. And Tom felt very well taken care of, and dumbfounded by himself, by Greg’s certainty. It was sexy, in a way he’d previously not seen in Greg. 

Tom’s therapist had been telling him to have sex with a man for a long while, that it’s very well and good to dismantle each layer of repression in words, but the body needs to hear it too. Tom told himself, call him old fashioned, he wanted to wait for someone he really trusted. Trusting Greg so entirely felt illogical, but also completely undeniable. Greg kissed against his neck, kissed his fingers, praised him from the inside out, and Tom slowly shifted loose, murmuring, gasping, grasping at whatever he could. 

Greg had never really got over Tom, not that he could place what there was to get over. The mark their relationship had left on Greg was deep and confusing, almost addictive to him. For a long time he was certain he could solve it with enough thought. It was just as he was forgetting, giving up on the mess that Tom had left him in his head, when he received a warm, concise, upsettingly careful email from him. Greg reflected on it while Tom slept on his shoulder, the years behind them feeling so insignificant. All the thought and wisdom Greg might have found couldn’t have solved it sooner. Like bread dough to bread, the world's first loaf was not found through theory, but through trial and error. There had been a fair amount of error.   
  
Why Tom reminded Greg of a loaf of bread was another uncertainty, but he felt no urgency in solving it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I haven’t written fanfiction since I was 14 and I have no idea if this is any good, but Tom and Greg are very interesting to me and I wanted to see them get together when they were healthier.


End file.
